


Bank Holiday

by rageprufrock



Series: Drastically Redefining Protocol [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rageprufrock/pseuds/rageprufrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin had been in absolute, exquisitely embarrassing ecstasies for the entire first month he was engaged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bank Holiday

Merlin had been in absolute, exquisitely embarrassing ecstasies for the entire first month he was engaged. Lancelot said he should come with a fine-print warning he could cause nausea, Gwen started shunning him after the second week because she was too nice to tell him he was being revolting, Everett threatened to seduce Arthur, just to burst Merlin's bubble of unbearable happiness.

"A terrifying sacrifice for you, for sure," Merlin had said, after he'd dispatched Arthur to the bar for another round of drinks, and also to be stared-at by a fuckload of wide-eyed tourists taking indiscreet cameraphone photos.

Everett looked hunted. "Emrys, you have _no fucking idea._ "

Anyway, all of them were just jealous, obviously, because Merlin was _engaged_. He was engaged to the most wonderful and handsome and kindhearted man in the world, and it was even better for the way that Arthur was so embarrassed by all of his goodness, and hid it underneath a thick layer of being a twat. It was a sentiment which inspired Morgana to tell Merlin she was sorry about his recent brain tumor when he'd conveyed it to her about it one day when they were deciding if they would be friends or hate each other over a brunch that had seemed to send Arthur into fits.

None of that white noise mattered, ultimately, because Arthur had eventually gotten around to giving the ring he'd taken to hiding in increasingly lackadaisical ways and Merlin had phoned his Mum and Hunith had started crying so hard _he'd_ started crying and the whole conversation had dissolved into overjoyed tears. Arthur had found him an hour later and laughed at him and helped Merlin ice his face, but it was a nice laugh, and so was the way he kissed Merlin's eyelids — fond, possessive — and Merlin had thought, "Oh, this is definitely love," when they'd resorted to passionate handjobs because Merlin was still too congested from weeping to manage oral sex up to his normal performance standards.

"You know," Arthur said afterward, carding his fingers through Merlin's hair, "you're handling this entire thing much better than I thought you would."

Merlin had gone up on his elbows so he could look down at Arthur's face, pink from exertion and so beloved and familiar. "What do you mean?" he asked. "You thought I'd say no?"

Arthur stared at him. "Well, any rational person would say no," he answered easily. "But I meant more — you know, the other stuff." And when Merlin kept staring at him blankly, Arthur accused him of being adorably stupid like one of those gorgeously inbred dogs, and Merlin had been too drugged on post-coital endorphins and love to do anything but sigh, "You think I'm _gorgeous_ ," at that.

The second month, Arthur said, "Oh, by the way, I've told Clarence House," which Merlin momentarily thought was a ridiculous statement because how did you tell a house? Or did Arthur mean the housekeepers? Despite his earlier promise they'd keep the Nut Factory? Although Merlin did concede they should at least pretend to live there, although everything in the building was horrifically breakable.

The second month plus fourteen minutes, other shoe dropped.

"Yes, hi?" Merlin said, juggling his mobile and his stethoscope and trying to drag on the bottoms of his scrubs at the same time. The stethoscope was winning.)

"Merlin, hello, this is Rosa, from Clarence House," she said. "May I extend my deepest congratulations on your engagement."

The world fell away. "Oh," Merlin said, "buggering fuck."

***

It was primarily out of pity, Merlin figured, that Lancelot broke his friend quarantine and furthermore tricked Gwen into coming out to meet with Merlin in the shitty bedsit he still kept for appearances. They huddled on Merlin's lumpy mattress with a number of bottles of Tesco's Finest wine — just because Merlin rubbed elbows and genitals with royalty now didn't mean he couldn't have his petty rebellions — and a profusion of chips drenched in vinegar to examine the shambles of Merlin's life.

"How on Earth did you manage to get engaged to Arthur Pendragon without realizing you were going to marry the fucking Prince of Wales, I ask you," Lancelot asked him, giving Merlin a side eye he was much more used to seeing in people like Arthur. And Morgana. And Gwen. And Gaius. And his mother. Upon reflection, Merlin spent of a lot of time with terrible, cruel people.

"He's not the prince to me!" Merlin complained. "He's _Arthur_. I was just too busy being overjoyed! I totally forgot!"

Gwen pointed a chip at him. "That — that right there is a sack of lies, Merlin. I remember your work locker collage of terrible Mirror pap images of him, and how at Mary's hen do you consoled yourself for being the token gay by stealing her tiara and pretending to be a princess."

"Okay, but all of that was _theoretical_ ," Merlin insisted.

Yes, fine, both of those accusations had at least shades of the truth, but so was the fact that while he had nursed one of those tremendously embarrassing crushes on the Prince of England for almost all of his life, none of that seemed — in his head — to have anything to do with his real life actual relationship with Arthur. Arthur was a person, and he had an uncomfortable relationship with his father and an unfortunate addiction to his iPhone and couldn't really hold his drink and had an emotional connection with football that let him unironically call it "the beautiful game" with such tenderness Merlin couldn't bear to mock him for it. Also, he liked _show jumping._ Arthur had hideous flaws and annoying personal habits and a tendency to workshop their sex life and honestly, Merlin didn't really see how Arthur — who liked for Merlin to tell him all the grossest things he'd seen at work that day over dinner — had anything to do with Arthur, The Prince of Wales.

Lancelot and Gwen just stared at him.

"I hate the both of you," Merlin told them. "When you get engaged, and start panicking, not only will I not be kind about it, I will be coldly disbelieving."

That turned out to be another classic Merlin moment, because of course just there, simmering beneath the surface of their domestic bliss, was Lancelot's furious heartbreak over the fact that he'd been trying to get Gwen to agree to marry him for months now, and Gwen's continuous rebuffs because she didn't want to be a plaster for his still-fragile sense of self post-Afghanistan. When they left Merlin's bedsit two hours later, considerably more hoarse from crying and drunk from drinking all the remaining bottles of wine between themselves and sore from pacing the length of Merlin's tiny room while arguing as Merlin pasted himself to a wall in silent terror — everyone was worse for it.

"Oh my God, Arthur," Merlin said to him forty minutes after that, clinging to Arthur's arm and shattered. "Arthur — you're the _Prince of England_ ," he moaned. "They're — we can't get married in Windmill Hill or in a garden or at City Hall. We're going to have to get married in a _church._ "

Arthur at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. "If it makes you feel any better, we're sort of gay and blasphemous, so at least we probably won't be able to get married in Westminster. Or probably not St. Paul's either."

Scraping it out of his throat, Merlin said, "Great."

"And Rosa already said it would be ludicrous and twee for you to wear all white, especially given the photos, so you know, there's that, too," Arthur said cheerfully, and started for the royal mews. "Anyway, try not to worry about it too much. The wedding planners and the royal event secretaries won't be ready to show us any of their proposals for the event for another two weeks at least."

"If I could vomit on cue like all the girls in sixth form, I would vomit on you," Merlin swore at him, and spent the rest of the drive trying to convince himself every world dignitary would boycott the ceremony in moral revulsion.

***

Rosa blinked at him.

"Of course no one will boycott the ceremony in moral revulsion," she assured him. "It would be hugely embarrassing for any of the even moderately socially progressive countries. Don't worry, Merlin, you two will be playing to a packed and very supportive house."

"I feel sick," Merlin told her.

She gave him a supportive pat. "I know."

"Does it get better?" he asked.

"Wouldn't know," she answered breezily, already turning to another task. Sometime during the last month — since Arthur had apparently gotten her drunk and broken the news to her that he'd asked Merlin to marry him, and let her have a human moment of despairing weeping — her office had turned into a tip: overbalanced stacks of wedding paraphernalia all over, everything from cake designs to suit designs to crumbling etiquette books and literal thousands of invitations that needed to be hand-addressed. "I wouldn't be caught dead marrying someone famous — much less a royal."

"You might actually be the meanest person I know," Merlin said to her honestly.

"I know, Merlin, now get out of my office," she told him gently, and Merlin went.

There were a lot of worst parts about getting married to Arthur, it turned out. The worst part was definitely the way thousands people all had questions for him that they didn't really need for him to answer, since every time Merlin expressed an opinion about anything — table settings, linen, decorations, flowers, clothes, his desire to take a piss — everybody just made that punched-in, sucking-lemons face and Merlin deferred to whatever they recommended, including just holding it until they were done. The worst part was also how, no matter how much he'd thought his personal life had already been hijacked by Arthur's bloodline, he'd had no idea, because apparently they'd been treating him with kid gloves insofar as the deportment department went, and lessons on elocution and public behavior kicked into Mach 4. The worst part was certainly how what was already a scandalously popular and undying topic for general world gossip was renewed with exhausting fervor, and if Merlin had thought the stalking and torture he'd endured at the hands of a bloodthirsty media had been appalling before, it was only because they hadn't really been properly _motivated_ to exceed their own expectations prior to news of the engagement.

At the moment, the worst part was the public announcement.

"I don't understand," Merlin said. "There's already been a press release, why do we have to make a public statement as well?"

"People want photos, Merlin. They want to see their future — "

Merlin held up a warning finger.

" — Prince Consort," Rosa said obligingly, a smile flirting with her mouth. "They want to see that you two are happy and in love."

Merlin glared. " _I_ think _you_ just want — "

Interrupting, Rosa said, "What _I_ want is to put this relationship out there best foot forward. I don't want people to think we're throwing a quiet event because we're concerned about the public image or worried about the backlash — I want them to know that we're as proud and thrilled Arthur is marrying Merlin Emrys, who went to a comprehensive and works as a doctor and _is a man_ as we would be if Arthur had chosen some heiress with a hyphenated last name."

Shuffling uncomfortably, Merlin said, "Oh."

"Are we clear?" Rosa asked.

"Yes," Merlin mumbled, and went away to let himself be fitted for his engagement outfit. It wasn't a suit because Arthur would be wearing a suit, and two would seem overly formal for an engagement announcement someone had said, and also because apparently it was Merlin's tragic fate to be cast into the part of the girl in this relationship in every state-sanctioned way.

That night, half-asleep and listing into Arthur's side, Merlin asked, "Is it always going to be like this? All of our private moments turned out like this?"

Arthur was quiet for a long time, and Merlin thought that this was just the engagement. That soon — April 29; it would be a bank holiday, and that was entirely too strange to wrap his mind around, still — there would be a _wedding_ and sometime after that there would be state visits, royal duties. There would be birthday parties and vacations. Maybe, if they were lucky, there would be kids and birthday parties and they would go away to school and meet people of their own and get married, too. He'd known, abstractly, since he'd said "yes," that these things would be public, but he'd also thought that at least they'd be his. It was only now he was starting to realize that was too naive, too.

"Yes, it probably will," Arthur said, soft. "But — but I know that since I've had you, things being like this has been more bearable, for me."

Merlin felt wide-awake at that, and when he turned to catch Arthur's eyes, they were startlingly blue and worried.

"And I know it's unfair, obviously," Arthur went on, raspy now, wobbling. "And obviously, also, you should know that I mean — you can be very rash sometimes, and not think things through in annoying ways, so if you decide that this isn't — "

"Oh, God, shut up," Merlin begged, and pressed kisses to Arthur's mouth to make him stop breaking Merlin's heart, and kept kissing him until Arthur's uncertainty and his hurt washed away into gratitude instead.

***

On the day, Rosa sent his mum to wake him up in his suite — expansive and beautiful and horrible, because Arthur was spending the night in Clarence House alone texting Merlin every five minutes asking, "Are you sure?" and "I'm sorry," and "I love you," and it made Merlin want to fly over to be with him — at 6 a.m. She'd kissed him awake, stroked the hair back from his face and said, "Good morning, my love," and he'd said, "Hi, Mum," and she'd smiled and said, "You're getting married today."

So he was, and she tumbled him out of the down comforters into the thin gray light of early morning.

They put him in a dove gray suit and did something to his hair, and everybody reminded him a thousand and one times not to make a fool of himself, that it was imperative he did…something, and finally, to breathe, because this was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. The photographers (there were four), caught him tripping over carpets, flower girls, Clarence House staff, nothing, and one of them — Gwaine — had taken care to snap a shot of Merlin, flustered and laughing at himself, before helping him up.

"Thanks, mate," he said. "I'm Gwaine — and that's the Time cover photo right there."

"You're welcome, arsehole," Merlin told him, and Gwaine had guffawed and tossed off another fucking flash right in Merlin's face.

Weirdly, in the end, Merlin didn't actually remember all that much about the wedding, because he spent most of it alternately having an out-of-body experience or so terrified he was expending most of his efforts trying not to lose control over his bowel functions.

Merlin knew there was a procession from the hotel to St. George's Chapel, where they heard the blessing and signed the civil paperwork — because every world dignitary with even a moderately progressive constituency was represented, just as Rosa said, but the Anglican church was a no-show — and the long drive down the parade ground. He knew that there would probably be hundreds of thousands people clustered around the parade ground, that Arthur would be clutching his hand — still disbelieving — and that eventually they would have reached Buckingham Palace and kissed on the balcony, because tradition was tradition was tradition.

But mostly, Merlin remembered meeting Arthur at the front of the church, the dark blue of Arthur's uniform jacket, the very blond of his hair, the absolute terror in his eyes.

He remembered saying, "Hello, _breathe_ ," and Arthur, surprised in the oppressive formality of the day, whispering to him, "You know, I thought you would have smartened up and run away."

"Oh," Merlin murmured back, ignoring the way the vicar was looking at them in affectionate disapproval because someone else had picked the suit and the venue and the suit but this was _his_ wedding, "I tried, but I fell down."

Actually, the picture of Arthur, Prince of Wales, head tossed back laughing at the altar for his own wedding was the one Gwaine ended up selling for the cover of Time, the front page of the New York Times International print edition, the Guardian, the London Times and the South China Morning Post.

But the photo after, he framed and sent to Merlin:

Arthur, leaning in, saying with a smile against the curve of Merlin's ear, "There's just something about you Merlin — I can't put my finger on it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Drastically Redefining Protocol 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/402449) by [read by lunchee (lunchee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunchee/pseuds/read%20by%20lunchee)




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